


you think far too much

by niems



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mean OC, alex is sad, george cares about him, hints at george/alex but thats up to your interpretation, thoughts fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:27:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29920302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niems/pseuds/niems
Summary: When he slips through George’s fingers, Alex tends to say nothing at all.
Relationships: Alex Elmslie/George Andrew, Alex Elmslie/Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	you think far too much

**Author's Note:**

> hiiiiiiiii omg i hope u enjoy this fic :]

When he slips through George’s fingers, Alex tends to say nothing at all. 

He remains silent on the couch, feet tucked up to his chest and the football blaring on the TV. The light washes over his face, flashing blues as he stares absently into the screen. George might as well have been sitting there on his own, because Alex’s team suddenly score a goal and even this emits no discernible reaction.

“Alex,” George says, stares at the side of his face, at the way his nose turns up at the end. “You haven’t said anything for hours.”

Alex hardly blinks, just continues to stare absently at the screen, red-stained lips from when he was eating cherries earlier, slightly parted. The thing with Alex is that he’s perpetually up and down, and so far in the sense that it could take the slightest thing for Alex to fall into a three-day-long slump. And then at the end of it, he’ll wander out of his room and sheepishly make George a cup of tea in his favourite mug. It’s his version of an apology, because Alex has never been good at making amends, or saying words that needed to be said. But it’s alright, because George isn’t good at words either, but his inability lies more in the way that he can’t even discern what needs to be said, whereas Alex just finds it incessantly mortifying to speak his true feelings aloud. They gel in some way, in a ‘shoulders ghosting together, because what needed to be said was spoken without words’ type of way. 

George doesn’t mind, really. He’d much rather that Alex was absent around him than around anybody else, because they hardly know him in the way that George is so familiar. They don’t know the intricacies of Alex’s brain and what makes the corner of his mouth turn up, the silent signal that he’s not mad really. Well, not at George anyway. 

His brain is one of George’s favourite things about Alex. He has a solution to every one of George’s problems within a second, gives him gift ideas for all his friends’ birthdays, tells him right to his face when he’s done something wonderful. But when it’s about himself, Alex hardly knows how to exist.

Alex solves all of George’s problems and George just exists in his aura.

“Are you feeling low again?” George asks. The adverts come onto the TV with a start, and the whiteness of the screen makes Alex blink, almost throwing him out of his stupor. “I’ll...I’ll make you some tea.”

George scrambles up from the couch with the idea fresh in his mind, the only thing he can think of to do. Because Alex is the one that solves all of the problems, not him. He’s just the side character in the comedy movie, the one who dies first in the horror movie.

From the kitchen counter, Alex is small on the sofa, his ability to tuck himself up into the most compact of shapes so incredibly present. His hair’s too long, and earlier he’d pushed it back with a headband. He’d looked like an idiot, but George’s fondness is never dampened, even when Alex chooses to stay silent. 

He makes the tea, clinks the teaspoon around in the glass until the milk tints the tea beige. 

Alex’s eyes flutter with recognition when George hands him the tea. “Yeah, ‘s hot,” George murmurs, noticing Alex wince at the temperature. 

George knows it’s because of Jack. Everything recently is. It happens in a loop, Alex goes to hang out with Jack, Jack does something stupid, Alex leaves, Alex sulks for days, Jack apologises, brings him some type of gift to the door of the apartment. George constantly finds himself arranging roses in a glass vase because Alex wouldn’t do it himself. _“It’s a waste of flowers if I don’t display them, Al.”_

Jack’s tall, one of those big-shouldered sports team members that should probably be playing rugby but somehow ended up on the football team with him. Alex is easily charmed, and Alex was Jack’s type; small, pretty, button nose. In hindsight, Alex is probably George’s type too.

A series of dates followed, each a step more worrying than the last. Jack took him for dinner initially, but the next time, Jack took him to his car. The time after that, Jack took him to his bedroom. It got less and less romantic as it became more prominent that he clearly only wanted sex. Alex was unsuspecting, probably liked the attention, and Jack liked how malleable Alex was. He tried to cover it with innocuous romantics to keep Alex on his toes, but George knew that it was all just to keep up impressions.

When Jack began to stop covering his intentions, Alex would get hurt. He’d cry, text George to pick him up. He’d weep in the car on the way home while George sympathetically patted his shoulder, unknowing of how to approach a situation so unfamiliar. Yet when Jack would apologise, promise to do better, Alex would accept it and optimistically meet him again. And the cycle would restart. Flowers and boxes of chocolate are still, to this day, piled up on the kitchen counter.

George doesn’t know what Jack has done this time, but he’s getting increasingly tired of being the one to pick up the pieces every time Alex falls into an absence. And he’s getting pretty tired of having to be pleasant to this man at the door of his apartment.

So, the next day, while Alex is sleeping on the sofa, there’s a knock at the door and George knows who it is. He’s expecting flowers, or chocolates, or an expensive necklace from a high street shop, since Jack has all the money for it. But when he opens the door, Jack is just standing there with his hands in his pockets as he looms over George.

George knows that he can’t let things pass again. He can’t just keep letting Alex get hurt by somebody who hardly cares for him. He wishes he could stand up to him, but he never knows what to say. 

Alex would know what to say if it was the other way around. 

“Can I help you?” George says, looking down at Jack’s hand to gauge whether he’s got a gift of some form. Jack seems to catch onto George’s gaze, and looks a little guilty.

“I haven’t…” Jack starts. “No more gifts. I just want to talk to Alex.” He shuffles in the doorway, wearing possibly the ugliest jeans and shirt that George has ever seen. For this offense alone, George is half tempted to slam the door, but he knows that Jack could probably crush him with his biceps so he chooses against it.

George looks over at the sofa. “He’s sleeping,” He comments. “He won’t talk to me, so I highly doubt he’ll talk to you either.” 

Jack sighs, rubs a hand over a stubble-speckled jaw. George can’t describe in words how much he despises him. “Well, I just wanted to tell him that I’m moving away from London, so we probably won’t meet again.”

And George sees red, words forming on his tongue that he’s never known were there before. “You’re moving away.” He seethes under Jack’s gaze. “After everything you’ve done to him? That’s so fucking selfish, Jack.”

Jack is shocked at George’s outburst, and looks somewhat tempted to make a run for it, but he seems to realise that running is no way to solve anything, so he stands awkwardly in the door. “I thought it would be better than sticking around.”

George grits his teeth, shaking his head in anger and disbelief. “That’s not the reason. It’s clearly because you’ve found somebody else to mess around with, and you can’t bear to tell him the truth,” he bites out. At this comment, George sees Alex clamber from the sofa, confusion apparent in his sleep-gauzed blue eyes.

Alex is confused, and Jack looks guilty. He pads over to where the confrontation sparked at the door, joggers low on his hips and hat pushing his hair back. He’s a mess, and Jack can see it in his eyes. “What’s going on?” he says, voice hoarse from hardly speaking for days. “Why are you shouting, George?”

He then notices Jack standing in the doorway and double takes, looking a bit ill at the sight of the man who played him being halfway in the door of his apartment.

“He’s too much of a coward to tell you that he’s found someone else,” George says, finding it hard to look Alex in the eye as he explains. “So he’s moving away from all of his problems.” 

Alex doesn’t say anything for a long while, and Jack doesn’t argue with any of George’s accusations.

“I’m going to go,” Jack says guiltily, looking anywhere but into Alex’s eyes. “This was a mistake.”

Alex’s heart shatters into a million pieces as Jack turns away from the door. George can see it in his eyes as George slams the door behind him, after shouting obscenities down the apartment hallway. 

George turns to him. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly, as he realises that he just stood up for his mate, as he realises that he just called Jack a _massive cunt._

“I’m alright,” Alex says. _He’s not._

“No you’re not.” George hugs him because it’s the only way he knows how to comfort Alex in the weirdness of their dynamic. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Alex nods. “I think...I think I need to.” And his vulnerability is no longer terrifying to George, because he’s not hiding it away this time. Today, he feels so open and honest, and maybe Alex will be fine after all.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! pls be nice to me


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